Terrible pick up lines
that are funny on purpose,
not by accident.

Are you a parking ticket? Because you're expensive and unwelcome, but I keep coming back.

If beauty were a crime, you'd be serving 6 months for petty offense.

You're like my morning alarm — necessary, but I have complicated feelings.

Are you a pile of laundry? Because I know I should deal with you, but I'm going to avoid it.

If you were a vegetable, you'd be a 'good-looking' potato. Solid, dependable, kind of plain.

If beauty were time, you'd be about fifteen minutes. Enough to be noticed, not enough to be late.

Are you a conspiracy theory? Because you're fascinating and I probably shouldn't believe in you.

Are you an unread email? Because you give me a small but persistent amount of anxiety.

Are you my phone battery? Because you're at 10% and I'm getting really stressed out about it.

Are you a traffic jam? Because I am stuck on you and I am not getting anywhere.

Are you a GPS? Because I'm lost in your profile and probably going the completely wrong way.

Are you a remote control? Because I think I've lost you and now my entire life is inconvenient.

Are you a speed bump? Because hitting on you was an unexpected jolt to my boring day.

If you were a houseplant, you'd be a cactus. Interesting to look at, but I'm afraid to get too close.

Are you the last slice of pizza? Because there's a lot of debate about whether I should go for it.

Are you the snooze button? Because hitting on you seems like a great idea that I'll regret later.

Are you a microwave meal? Because you look okay on the box but might be disappointing in reality.

If you were a movie, you'd be a straight-to-DVD sequel. I'm curious, but my expectations are low.

Are you my sanity? Because I think I might be losing you just by looking at your profile.

You're like Microsoft Excel — confusing but I can't stop using you.

You look like the kind of person who returns their shopping cart. That's hot, honestly.

You're like a charger left in the wall — quietly essential and I forget you're there.

You look like the type of person who uses their turn signal in an empty parking lot.

You have the confident energy of someone who claps when the plane lands. I'm strangely into it.

You seem like you could give me really solid, yet completely unsolicited, financial advice.

You look like you know how to properly fold a fitted sheet, which is a terrifyingly attractive skill.

You have the same vibe as a comfy old sofa. Not fancy, but I could easily fall asleep on you.

You seem like someone who's really good at assembling IKEA furniture. Frustrating, but impressive.

You look like a person who organizes their bookshelf by color. It's wrong, but I respect the dedication.

You have the aura of someone who actually reads the terms and conditions. I don't trust it.

You seem like the person who reminds the teacher about the homework. Annoying, but responsible.

You look like you're surprisingly good at parallel parking. An oddly specific and attractive quality.

You give off the vibe of someone who has a favorite spatula. I find that deeply compelling.

You have a very trustworthy face. I'd probably let you watch my laptop for a minute.

You look like the kind of person who brings a healthy snack to the movie theater.

You seem like you have a perfect credit score, which is both impressive and a little boring.

You have the calm demeanor of a bomb disposal expert, which makes me wonder what's wrong.

You look like you would be the designated driver. Safe, dependable, and probably not having the most fun.

You give off the energy of a very well-behaved golden retriever. It's a lot, but it's cute.

You seem like you own a label maker and aren't afraid to use it. That's admirable.

You have the smile of someone who secretly enjoys doing their taxes, and it's confusing.

You look like you could explain cryptocurrency to me, and I would still not understand it.

You seem like you'd have a very strong, and very wrong, opinion on pineapple on pizza.

I shouldn't be writing this. And yet here we are. The void called and you're in it.

I'd say you complete me but my therapist says that's codependent. So: hi.

Some people find love. I found you. The universe is bad at organizing.

I've been staring at the 'send message' button for five minutes, contemplating the nature of human connection.

My brain told me this was a bad idea, but my heart said 'do it for the plot.

I'm not saying our match is destiny, but the universe has made stranger mistakes before.

I've accepted this is all a simulation. You seem like a very well-rendered part of it.

I had a dream about this conversation. It was awkward there, too. So, let's get this over with.

My therapist suggested I should be more open to new things. You're my homework for the week.

I am choosing to interpret this match as a cosmic sign that I should not do my laundry today.

I'm supposed to be a functioning adult, but instead I'm here, writing this message to you.

Sending this message feels like throwing a paper airplane into a black hole. Hope you get it.

I am actively ignoring all my responsibilities to compose this message. You're welcome.

I saw your profile and had a brief crisis about the fleeting nature of time. Anyway, what's up?

In the grand scheme of things, this message is meaningless. But so is everything else, so here we are.

I've decided to let chaos guide my decisions today. You're my first chaotic decision.

I'm pretty sure I was supposed to do something important, but then I saw your face and forgot.

I've come to terms with my own cringe. This message is me embracing the digital void.

The algorithm brought us together. Let's not give it the satisfaction of working perfectly.

I'm torn between trying to be cool and just admitting I think you're neat. The second one won.

I think we just skipped three levels of the simulation by matching. What happens now?

I'm writing this against my better judgment, which is usually a sign that I should absolutely do it.

I have seen the end of the internet. It was just more profiles. Then I found yours.

I am but a humble servant of the swipe, delivering this message as dictated by the powers that be.

I'm currently having an argument with myself about whether this is a good opener. I clearly lost.

I had a great opener. I lost it. This is what's left. Sorry / you're welcome.

I sent this knowing it's the worst opener of my life. Be the one who appreciates it.

Disclaimer: I am bad at this. Conclusion: hi anyway.

I spent way too long trying to craft the perfect opener for you. This is not it.

Congratulations, you've matched with someone who is terrible at first messages. The prize is this conversation.

My bio is a carefully constructed fantasy. In reality, this is the best line I have.

The app told me to 'make the first move.' This is less of a move and more of a stumble.

I'm skipping the witty opener and moving directly to the part where we awkwardly get to know each other.

This is me shooting my shot. I should warn you in advance, I have terrible aim.

I'm using you to test out my new, terrible pickup lines. How am I doing so far?

I am legally required to inform you that I am not as cool as my profile suggests.

I have a PhD in overthinking, and this opening message is my final dissertation.

I found this line on a website titled '10 Openers That Are Guaranteed To Fail.' Let's test their theory.

Let's just fast-forward to the part where we've been talking for a week. This part is always awkward.

I swiped right because your pictures are great. I'm messaging this because my standards for openers are low.

I was going to make a clever joke about your bio, but I completely forgot it. So, hi.

The algorithm commanded me to message you. I am merely its humble, awkward servant.

I'm trying out my C-game on you. I'm saving the A-game for never, probably.

I promise I'm more interesting than this opening line. It's a very low bar to clear.

I've officially exhausted my supply of clever openers for the year. You get this instead.

I crowdsourced this opener from my friends. You should see the ones I decided to reject.

I'm sending this with the full knowledge that it's a terrible line. I admire my own courage.

I'm supposed to be charming now, but I'm running on three hours of sleep. This is what you get.

Are you a printer? Because you constantly require attention and I have no idea why I bother.

You remind me of my favorite chair — uncomfortable but I keep coming back.

If we got married, our wedding song would be 'Despacito.' I don't make the rules.

If you were a sandwich, you'd be a grilled cheese. Simple, comforting, and good at any time of day.

Are you an IKEA instruction manual? Because you are confusing and I've decided to just guess what to do.

Are you a math problem? Because you look complicated and I'm pretty sure I'm getting the wrong answer.

You're like a houseplant I forgot to water. I feel guilty, but I'm still hoping you'll survive.

Are you the 'terms and conditions' agreement? Because I'm just going to agree without fully understanding you.

If we were characters in a movie, this would be the awkward scene right before the plot actually starts.

You remind me of a forgotten password. I know you're important, but I can't quite figure you out.

Are you a smoke detector? Because you're probably going to go off at 3 AM for no reason at all.